Enigma
by MelancholyofAngel
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, it's possible to fall in love with a photograph. AU.
1. Chapter 1

"Oz!" He hears her shout, and he grimaces with a distasteful sigh. "Oz, you need to finish unpacking!"

He meets her yells with silence.

"Perhaps we need to address the house rules, Oz! Come here!"

He can't stand her, really, that witch of a woman. There are many things Oz Vessalius hates. He hates rainy days, and empty promises, and wishes on candles and dandelion fluff that never came true. And he hates her. He doesn't know her at all, actually. But he's seen too much, heard too much, _felt _too much—he knows that this lie, this foolish attempt at filling the whole in his chest, will crumble. Nothing is permanent, and keeping the tears from falling is all he can do.

"Coming, Ms. Kate!" Oz calls cheerfully, anyway. What else can he do?

He half walks, half stumbles ungracefully down the creaky, spiraling staircase, coming to a stop at the bottom, where Ms. Kate, his new adoptive guardian is, looking as though someone stuck something foul under her ugly nose. She stands with her hands on her bony hips, graying hair tied up in a strict, no-nonsense bun. Her thin, square-rimmed glasses sit at the end of her witch-like nose, giving her an old, gnarled appearance. She smacks her thin fish lips, preparing for a spittle-ridden speech about promptness and the proper way to unpack. Her long, darkly colored dress sweeps at the dusty floor, and her large, clunky cargo boots makes the floorboards groan as she steps back slightly.

"Now Oz," She begins with an air of superiority, "As I am your new guardian, I expect respect, civility, and the utmost punctuality from you. Do you understand?"

He nods numbly, false smile dimming a little.

"Good. Supper shall be served at precisely 6 o'clock in the evening, and if you are late, you will receive little to none." She glares at him over the rims of her spectacles. "Also, because school does not start for another four months, you should tend to the garden or study in the library to occupy yourself."

Another slow nod.

"And one more thing," She says smartly, brushing out invisible creases in her dress. "This house is old and needs refurbishing. Do watch where you step. Your room is temporarily the attic. That is all. Make sure to unpack."

With that, she turns and walks away briskly, leaving him standing at the bottom of the stairwell with a solemn look upon his face. Sighing disappointedly, he decides to explore outside, and fully take in the view of the house for the first time.

It's a large, long home with outside walls of pale brick, and steep, sloping roofs that are the color of ripe mulberries. Long tendrils of dark, leafy ivy creep up the sides, caressing the bricks almost lovingly. The nestled, well-worn feel of the property gave him the impression of a fairy tale cottage, snug in a forest of wonder and magic.

The windows are all grand, ornate, and irregularly shaped, some with stained glass images of flowers and intricate patterns. Only one window looks supremely shabby, the one on the upper floor to the side. The attic. It is boarded shut sloppily, almost as if no one really cared. A small box of wilting flowers sits somberly outside on the window ledge. That's his room.

The house in itself is breathtaking, but it can't hold a candle to the gardens. Huge bushes of blooming roses and lilacs and sweet forget-me-nots, and brilliant clumps of lilies, daffodils, and rhododendrons are scattered perfectly along the small stone path and fountain. It is a scene from a dream, the vibrancy and sheer beauty of it all nearly stops his heart.

A colossal weeping willow tree stood to the side; it's gnarled, twisting roots peeking out of the ground. There, attached to a swooping, out-lying branch was a little makeshift swing, lonely and unused, as though forgotten.

He turns away, feeling bitterness sting his eyes.

* * *

Unpacking is torture for him. It always has been. He's given up hope of a permanent settlement, and fails to see any point in unpacking his few belongings when in a few weeks, he will be gone yet again. He makes his way up the small steps to the attic, and finds himself face to face with a musty room full of old cardboard boxes. He is mildly curious, and digs through them for a while, finding nothing of real interest. Pieces of fine jewelry, an old board game, a stuffed rabbit… It is not until he searches the last box that he finds two things that catch his eye.

The first is a lovely musical pocket watch, which gleams preciously as he holds it up closer to look. The tune that emerges from it is…. Heavy, he decides. Despite the light, feathery sound of the notes, the sound resounds like a stone dropped in water. There is an agelessness to it that is burdened by the feel of longing, of loneliness. He closes it with a sharp snap.

He looks to the second item.

It is a small, leather photo album, with the words 'Pandora Hearts' scratched messily onto the cover. He flips it open, and the first picture is of a beautiful young woman with long, flowing dark hair and eyes the color of wine. She smiles coyly into the camera, but her eyes are soft with years of melancholy. Wordlessly, he flips the page.

He spends the next few hours poring over the pictures, though most of them are faded or torn. He flips the last page, and a stray photograph falls out. He bends down slowly and picks it up. The last rays of sunlight stream in from the cracks in the boards covering the window, giving him enough light to make out the picture.

It is a girl, young, with a face as fresh as first snow. She resembles the first woman greatly, though her eyes are not ruby, but a striking shade of violet. She grins happily in the photograph, her thin arms wrapped around a stuffed rabbit (which he recognizes to be the one he found earlier) as she sits, perched daintily, atop that swing under the willow. There are two other people, next to her: a boy with black hair and golden eyes, and one with blonde hair and one red eye. Oz pays them no mind, only searching the girl's face hungrily. Even in the photograph, she radiates an air of happiness, and it is something he craves.

He decides that one day, he will meet this girl.

* * *

**Author's Note: My first Pandora Hearts piece! Woo! I may continue this, I might not. This started as a prompt to get my creative writing juices flowing, but this plot bunny keeps running around in my head. Well, whatever. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes snap open, as she inhales sharply, breathing in the smell of fresh ink and frost in the morning. She bends over slightly, and peers into the corner of the room, where a crummy desk is unoccupied. Crossly, she flops over on her side, and comes face to face with her twin sister, who is sleeping soundly. Something, a familiar something, sparks within her. She knows she should be seeing her sister, she knows she should be seeing the crystalline eyelashes and long, moonbeam locks, but all she sees is herself—a mirror image.

She clambers out of bed, careful not to wake Alyss, who is dozing so peacefully. A murmur of a sigh escapes her lips, and her bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor.

Their house is very small, with one cramped bathroom, one bedroom, a small, dimly lit kitchen. It is nothing compared to her old home, and she misses it with a burning ache. However, she is happy. It's just a little piece of joy, but enough to keep her going—enough to get her up in the morning. It's a happiness that comes from the love of a sister and uncle and an old keyboard.

She makes her way down the skinny flight of stairs, and into the kitchen, where she sees Oswald, her soft-spoken uncle, rummaging through the refrigerator. His lengthy dark hair looks unkempt—a rare sight—and his tired violet eyes, which are just like hers, are wild and frantic. His face is paler than she's ever seen it, and gaunt with sharply protruding cheekbones. He looks ghostly in the dim lighting.

"Oswald?" She says quietly, causing him to withdraw from the fridge and turn to her.

"Ah, good morning, Alice," He responds mildly, patting her head gently. "Did you sleep well?"

He is unfocused, but gives her a miniscule, distracted smile. It makes him look slightly deranged.

"No, did _you _sleep well?" Alice growls, and crosses her arms, trying to mask her worry. "You look terrible."

"Oh, I'm fine, I'm fine," He brushes away her concerns with a polite wave of dismissal. "It's just that we're going to visit your mother today."

Alice freezes, as does her heart. The sentence echoes. Her mother…? How long has it been? She backs away slowly, before whirling around and scampering back up the stairs. She flings the door open with a loud bang, and pinches Alyss awake, glaring at her angelic face.

"Alyss," She snaps as her fair-haired twin attempts to go back to sleep. "Alyss, _get up!"_

"Go away," Is the reply.

"Alyss, we're going to visit_ Mom_ today!" Silence.

With a small squeak of the bed in acknowledgement, Alyss crawls out of the covers, lilac eyes pools of worry.

An unspoken agreement passes between them.

* * *

"Alice, straighten your dress," Oswald says quietly, but the command is still evident. She does, and without protest, which is unusual for her.

The cab is uncomfortably silent, except for the paunchy, cigar-smelling driver's tone-deaf humming.

The trip out into the countryside takes about an hour, and the stifling, scratchy material of the dress makes her cringe. But she does not complain. There is no room for whining today. She simply stares out the rain streaked window, watching the summer-bitten trees mush and meld together into distorted figures of emerald green.

It is unusually rainy for a day in June, as though the heavens sense the gloominess of her little makeshift family. Alyss drools on her shoulder, but she pays it no mind. She wonders what her mother will be like. She can't remember at all, just a pair of wine red eyes, wide with childlike wonder. Alice contemplates waking her sister to ask her, but stops herself. Does she really want to hear about her mother—this _stranger?_

Alyss knows. Alyss always knows, but she dares not ask. While Alice was raised in that wretched house, Alyss had been with their mother—their mother who is clinically insane.

* * *

The cab drops them off at the edge of the tiny town, and Oswald pays the driver extra to stay and wait for them. The trio makes their way into the town, which is bustling with smiling, rosy-cheeked people who are surprisingly active for a rainy day.

"It's beautiful," Alyss breathes. It suddenly strikes Alice that her twin has never been here before.

"Not really," Alice mumbles back, adjusting the hem of her dress once more.

Their house, the cage where she had once been imprisoned, is just outside of town, and she is glad that they don't see it. She doesn't feel ready.

Some people stop and stare, and she has to bite back stinging remarks. Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to stare? She wants to scream. Her family is never welcomed. She listens, and can hear their whispers.

"The eyes, look at the eyes!"

"They've got to be one of them—that cursed family,"

"Do you think they've come to visit _that one?"_

"I heard she tried to strangle one of the nurses last week!"

"Good lord, I hope they're out of here soon!"

Alyss shrinks slightly behind her, cowering behind the bolder of the twins. Alice doesn't have to ask to know that the beauty of the town is gone from her eyes.

"Come along, girls," Oswald smiles gently, and they continue on their way. She can see in the pain writhing in his eyes.

Her boots make an oddly satisfying click on the slick cobblestone path, and she focuses on the noises to avoid the stares and reproachful looks the townspeople give them. Maybe they don't remember her. She gets a twisted feeling of happiness knowing that they don't remember her, that strange girl who haunted the Baskerville House.

* * *

They reach the hospital, settled at the end of the main street. It is small, with faded green shutters and walls of pale brick. The door is pretty, made of glass. She can see the receptionist, a bubbly looking young woman with hair the color of cherry blossom petals. Her eyes are an eerily vibrant shade of magenta.

"Why, if it isn't Oswald Baskerville," She squeals, standing slowly. There is something about her demeanor that Alice does not like.

"Hello, Lottie," Oswald replies in a resigned sort of way.

"Have you come here to visit me?" 'Lottie' inquires, leaning forwards and propping her chin up on her hands.

"She's flirting with Oswald!" Alyss growls under her breath, and Alice nods in agreement. They both shuffle a little closer to their uncle.

"Lottie, you know why I'm here," Oswald sighs, making the pinkette pout childishly with her ruby slathered lips.

"Last room on the third floor," Lottie says rather indifferently, all traces of flirtation gone, before sitting back down with a disappointed huff. They thank her politely, and the twins hurriedly latch onto Oswald and hurry to the stairs. They decide they hate that woman.

Alice clutches tightly onto her sisters arms as they finally reach the last door on the third floor. Oswald knocks, and it sounds like a death sentence in her ears. The door opens with a loud creak, and out comes a small, round lady with a sweet face. The smile crinkles at the corner of her eyes relax her a little, but she does not let go of her sister and uncle.

"Oh, you must be the Baskervilles," She acknowledges kindly, putting out a soft, broad-palmed hand.

"Yes, that's us," Oswald says. The nervousness, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, is evident in his voice. He shakes her hand briefly.

"I'm Mrs. Finn, Ms. Baskerville's head nurse. You are?"

"Oswald Baskerville, Lacie's brother. These are her daughters, Alice and Alyss,"

Alice cringes at the similarity of their names. She has never hated it more than now. She looks to her sister, who is completely undeterred. In fact, her twin smiles brightly at the nurse. Alice bitterly thinks that despite having the same face, Alyss will always be prettier. She shakes away the thought as quickly as it came.

"Well, do come in," Mrs. Finn laughs, and gestures them inside.

When they enter, Alice stiffens.

She doesn't know what she was expecting, but this was definitely not it.

A tall, slim woman sits on a soft white bed, flipping the page of thin book lovingly. Her hair, dark and silky, tumbles down her shoulders. Her eyes are exactly how Alice remembers—the exact shade of red wine. They are fixated on the book, as though she did not hear them enter.

"Lacie," Oswald whispers, and pulls away from the twins' grasps.

He swiftly walks to her, and in three strides, he is kneeling by her side, gazing up at his sister's face. After a moment of painful silence, she turns her head and closes the book. From her place at the doorway, Alice makes out the title of the book. It is _Alice in Wonderland._

"Lacie, do you know who I am?" He asks calmly, gently, as though speaking with a small child. The question resonates around the room, in all its white-walled glory.

It takes her a while to answer.

"No."

* * *

**Author's Note: Enter Alice. Wow, I hope this didn't make your brain hurt. The plot bunny is vicious, what can I say? I hope this met up to expectations. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to continue the story, but I must say, I've fallen in love with the idea. I hope I didn't butcher the characters too much, but this is an AU piece. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Oz has fallen into a routine.

Wake up, eat, read, eat, tend to the garden, eat, draw, shower and brush his teeth, sleep.

Then repeat, repeat, repeat.

And sometimes he goes to the bathroom.

The attic has been cleared of the boxes, and replaced by a small blue bed and writing desk. His few possessions were unpacked only to be shoved into a large wooden chest, and the window has had the boards removed. Still, the dust and shadows linger, though it is not unfriendly.

He welcomes the emptiness of his new room, even finds it relaxing.

And in that room, he has the perfect view of the garden, and the rusty iron gates that guard the property. So far, there have been no visitors, except for the moving company and those Ms. Kate hired to refurbish the house. There are no friendly neighbors, no salespeople, or even a stray cat. Not that he has a problem with that.

He shuts himself away from the world, left alone with his books, the photograph (which he hides under a bunch of scrap paper in a desk drawer), and the garden.

Still, his favorite place in the house is not the attic, but the library. It is a reasonably large room, filled with shelves upon mahogany shelves of books. A skinny, steep staircase leads up to an overhang of sorts, a thin walkway, where there is a more recent selection of works. A grand chandelier hangs from the sky-painted ceiling, and the stone hearth provides plenty of warm, buttery light and heat.

It is a safe haven for him, a place where he can drown himself in intricate words and tales of far, far away. It takes his mind off of the violet-eyed girl, if only for a couple of hours.

She haunts him, but he's not sure that that's a bad thing.

* * *

"Oz, get your nose out of those silly fairy tales and go get the mail! There are important letters for me about the house!"

Silly fairy tales? He snorts derisively, shutting _War and Peace _with unnecessarily angry force. But he does not object, instead stands and stretches with the laziness of a teenage boy who had spent the last few weeks shut up in a dusty old room. With an awkward sort of gait, he makes his way out the chipped front doors to the mail box, which leans on the hedges just outside the gate.

He opens it, and takes out the letters, his movements sluggish and his mind even slower. The rest of his actions are a haze, his body moving before his mind even begins to comprehend what is going on. Oz then shuts the gates and walks up the path, slouching as he flips through the mail listlessly.

"Hey, I've never seen you around before!" A cheerful voice giggles. It startles him, and he drops the mail.

There is a girl, no older than eleven or twelve, standing behind the gates, staring at him with large, clear blue eyes. The way she leers at him is unnerving. He thinks quietly to himself that she looks rather like Little Red Riding Hood gone wrong, with her long, garishly red cloak. Her bob cut auburn hair, pumpkin pants, and frills make her look like an innocent child, but the tattoo on her face says differently.

"Are you listening?" She inquires in her high, sing-song soprano. "Hellooo?"

"W-Who are you?" He mentally curses himself for stuttering, but there is something about her that he does not like.

"I'm Lily!" She chirps, like it should be obvious. "And you're Oz."

"How did you know my name?" He responds, bending down slowly to pick up the letters. They are all addressed to Ms. Kate about the house. He does not take his eyes off of her.

"It's a small town," She says simply, rocking on the balls of her feet.

She does not speak for a few moments, and he takes it as a sign that he should leave. Oz edges his way up the path uneasily, and when he is just at the door, she calls out,

"Hey, did you know your house is cursed?"

"Cursed?" He echoes, turning his attention from the door back to her.

"Mmhmm," Lily nods, smiling eerily. "That's the rumor. Curses follow the Baskervilles all around, yes they do."

"Baskervilles?"

"Oh, yes. Baskervilles, haven't you heard of them? They're said to bring misfortune everywhere they go!" Lily grins slyly. "Once upon a time, this house used to be the Baskerville's home. No one was allowed to enter except them. No visitors, not even a door to door salesperson. Do you know why? The Baskervilles had a prisoner. A girl—I saw her once… She had very sad looking eyes. They kept her locked up in the attic."

He freezes.

"Then one day, she disappeared. Gone. And one by one, the Baskervilles left the house," She says ominously.

"What happened to them?" He wishes he didn't ask.

"Some went insane, others…" She shrugs innocently. "I don't know."

Suddenly, the grin is back.

"But one of them is locked up in the asylum at the edge of town—completely bonkers, that one. I heard she tried to strangle one of the nurses!"

He keeps his silence.

"And did you know? Did you know? She has visitors today! I saw them!"

"How do you know all this?" Oz blurts out, putting a hand on the doorknob.

"Like I said," She laughs. "It's a small town."

Oz turns the doorknob, and is about to close the door when she yells, "And I'm a Baskerville!"

He slams it.

He'd be lying if he said that he isn't scared to go in his room again.

* * *

Oswald clears his throat, and from where Alice stands, she swears she can see his eyes watering. He brushes himself off and backs away a little. Lacie fixes her attention back to her book, eyes unblinking.

"Lacie," He addresses her once more. She looks irritated when she looks up again. "I'm your brother, Oswald. Would you—would you like to meet your daughters?"

"Brother," She repeats distractedly. "Daughters."

"This is Alyss," He takes the pale twin's hand and guides her to stand next to her mother. "And this is Alice."

She stiffly walks over without having Oswald pull her, and a chill dances along her spine. She feels as though her mother, her insane, unfeeling mother, can pierce her soul. All the lies she's told, all the things she's ashamed of, she thinks numbly that Lacie can see it all.

"Alice? Alice?" Lacie's eyes seem to darken, as she fixates her gaze on Alice, who looks small in the presence of her own kin. "Alice, how did you fall down the rabbit hole?"

They cannot think of what to say, and Mrs. Finn watches nervously from the door, ready to call for help. Alice's mouth is dry, as Lacie's scarlet eyes burn holes in her face. Those red eyes search her hungrily, desperate for the answers that she does not have.

"Could you… Could you guide him down this deep, dark hole?"

"Him?" Alyss murmurs curiously.

Oswald tenses beside the twins.

"He said he would stay forever…"

"Alice, Alyss," Oswald says, his voice tight and strained. "Go out in the hall, please. I need to speak to her alone."

"B-But Oswald," Alyss whimpers in protest, but he shakes her off.

_"Go." _

As they leave, Alice catches a few snippets of the Oswald's hushed words to Lacie, who sits like a porcelain doll, staring at the white walls that Alice suddenly sees as a cage. She has to strain her ears to make out the words, as they are fleeting like morning frost. They are barely murmurs, more breaths than tangible words.

"Levi….Jack…_ Gone." _

She turns to her sister, who seems to have heard as well.

"Jack," She whispers.

* * *

**Author's Note: What am I doing to this story? I have no idea. This plot confuses me as well, but I've grown really fond of it. I've decided everyone's roles **_**except **_**for Jack. I just know he plays a major part—what's wrong with me? Oh right, **_**everything.**_** I just feel like burying myself under six feet of sand. Thanks for reading and a merry Christmas (late) to all! **


	4. Chapter 4

When she's at her worst, Alice likes to think she's invincible. That includes allowing herself to stumble onto the streets and almost get run over by an elderly man driving a rusting Cadillac. She hears her sister calling for her to come back, to wait for Oswald, but she does not. _Lacie…. Jack…. Levi…_ The names give her a headache, and before she blinks, she is there, on that small, familiar dirt road. She wants to back away, to run, to go back to her family, but her body remembers. As her mind protests, all she feels is the need for shelter.

The house finally comes into view, as does a large refurbishing company truck. It shocks her that someone dares to move into that house.

She is lost in her thoughts until a sharp stinging brings her back to life. She registers that her feet are bleeding, her stockings looking more like tatters than anything else. Where had her shoes gone? She faintly remembers kicking those nasty, confining Mary-Janes off while she was running. The pain, she does not mind, but it is the cold, mushiness of the ground that deters her. Her dress is dirty and a little torn (she had gotten the hem stuck in a bramble bush), and the lace and frills are hanging off, but she lets out a sigh of relief that she is not there anymore, with that husk of a person.

The creak of the door opening makes her jump, and her eyes meet a pair of vibrant green ones that look so much like _his_.

"Um, who are you?"

* * *

Oz needs a break. Ms. Kate's constant yelling and orders to the refurbishing men are enough to make his eardrums bleed. He is supremely thankful when he finishes his chores early, and is able to escape from the house. He opens the door with a creak (he winces, hoping that Ms. Kate is too occupied to notice) and steps outside onto the porch. That is when he sees her.

She is standing breathless behind the gates, looking like a torn, slightly bloody mess. Her maroon dress is covered with flecks of mud and dirt, and her stockings are atrocious, with massive runs and scrapes. Her feet are bare and scratched, pale and awkward on the dark brown earth.

Despite her messy, ragged appearance, her hair, which is long and dark with a couple of braids, seems untouched, though a little windswept. Her face is pale and almost regal, with a sharp, dainty chin, rose-bud lips, and high cheek bones. He vaguely remarks to himself that she is lovely.

But it is her eyes that catch his attention. Violet and electrifying, and he has to try very hard to remember how to breathe, because it's _her—_the girl who has haunted his every waking moment, the girl from the photograph with the smile like sunrise.

"Um, who are you?" The question comes out shakily, and he mentally berates himself for it. She stares him down, and he shifts a little restlessly.

"What's it to you?" Her voice is piercing, loud and sharp, like a knife's blade. It's still feminine, but with a dark, guarded tone.

"Well, you're the one standing in front of my house," Oz replies with a small sort of grin. She looks slightly uncomfortably when he mentions that it's _his_ house now.

"It's not like that matters, since technically, I'm not on the property," She says in a superior tone, as though she hasn't noticed that she is the one who looks like a homeless person.

He likes her voice, he decides, even when the things she says are not particularly friendly or nice at all.

"Then what, pray tell, are you doing here?" He inquires, walking down the stone steps.

"I…" She pauses, contemplating. "I'm not quite sure."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "You must be a bit of an airhead then, if you don't know why you're here."

"Shut up!" She hisses, a light pink hue dusting her pale cheeks. He finds it rather endearing. "I'm not an airhead!"

_"_Suuure you're not." The blonde responds sarcastically. He opens the gate and confidently sticks his hand out, smiling cheekily. "I'm Oz Vessalius."

"Ammsh," She mumbles, looking down at her feet.

"Could you repeat that?" He asks amusedly.

"Alice!" She growls out, and grabs his hand, squeezing as though she is picturing her hands around his neck.

"Alice… Just Alice?" He prompts, pulling his hand out of her grasp. Alice _Baskerville, _perhaps? It is likely, considering he found her photograph in the attic of the Baskerville House.

"Just Alice," The brunette clarifies angrily, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Well, _Just Alice_, would you like to come in?" Oz invites, gesturing behind him to the magnificence that is the garden. She glares at him.

"I'd rather die than go back in _that_ house," Alice snaps. "And frankly, I don't know you, and I don't even know why I'm here, so _good day to you, Oz Vessalius!" _The way she says it implies: 'I hope you have a terrible day, and I curse you and your family for seven generations.'

"Come back soon!" He waves to her as she makes a face.

Then, she flounces off, her nose held high in the air. She stumbles a little, and curses when she thinks that he can't hear her (but he can) because she's accidentally treaded on a billion little rocks. He chuckles quietly as he watches her small figure fade away in the distance, feeling lighter than he has in years.

* * *

Alice ponders one why she had run off in the first place, her crisis forgotten, for her mind is now filled with the smiling face of Oz Vessalius.

* * *

**Author's Note: And so, they finally meet! Dang, this was a short chapter. Sorry, my loyal readers. Next chapter will be longer (hopefully). Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

"B-But Oswald—"

"My decision is final."

Alice has never seen her uncle look more on edge.

They are moving, back to that horrible town, with its horrible people and that horrible, horrible asylum. Alice's nails dig into her palms, fists clenching with the thoughts of going back. She is content with her life in the city, not happy, but content. What she has is enough for her, and she is definitely not willing to give it up so easily, not with their situation.

Alyss has already gone to bed, happily tucked away in a land of swirling dreams of sunshine and flowers. It bugs Alice how submissive her twin is sometimes, how easily she will obey and how faint of heart she is. Somewhere no matter how deep down, there is a tight knot of resentment towards her sister, though, Alice cannot blame Alyss for her soft demeanor, with a dysfunctional family like theirs.

"Where will we stay—you haven't found a house yet, have you?" Alice inquires, keeping her eyes trained on her bandaged feet.

"We'll stay at Lottie's temporarily," Oswald says shortly. Her eyes snap up to meet his, alarmed as well as annoyed.

"Who is she, anyway?" She asks, and is entirely afraid of the answer.

"An old acquaintance of your mother's and mine," The reply feels empty, and that unspeakable name once again echoes in the silence.

_Jack._

Oswald looks to her with unmistakably tortured eyes, and she surrenders for the night, relaxing and retiring to the comforts of the bed. Though she burrows into the blankets calmly, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she expects the worst the following day.

It's not like they have a lot to pack, but Alice makes it a point to exclaim every five minutes that she has forgotten yet another trivial knick-knack in her room and must go retrieve it—just to prolong the agony of driving away from the small, cramped apartment that she treasures so deeply. She can't help it, it's her _home._

She can't stand the idea of waking up in that Lottie-what's-her-name-woman's house and watching her shamelessly flirt with Oswald.

It's even worse than having to listen to the paunchy cab driver's tone-deaf humming during the long trip back to the town.

* * *

"Oswald! Welcome to my house," The woman giggles, flipping her cherry blossom locks flirtatiously. Alice has to bite back a snarl when Lottie almost closes the door in the twins' faces.

"Lottie, these are my nieces, Alice and Alyss," Oswald informs her, gesturing to them pointedly.

Alice cringes again at the sounds of her and her twin's names together. Can't she have something to call her own?

"My, my, aren't you two spitting images of Lacie?" Lottie takes a strand of Alyss's pale hair in her red-talon fingers. "But of course, you've got a bit of Lev—"

"Charlotte," Oswald cuts across her sentence like a blade, an unreadable expression passing over his face like a storm cloud. He pulls the twins inside, and Lottie closes the door casually.

_Levi._ She's heard that name before. It somehow registers in her mind that Levi is her father. She recalls this somewhat hazily, as she has never even seen a picture of the man, let alone met him before. When she was younger, Alice had asked Oswald about her parents, and only received a vague description of her father: white hair and violet eyes, with a joyful demeanor. She had once been riddled with questions, but had resigned to a life of not knowing.

"Anyways," Lottie changes the subject, smiling all too cheerily, "come in, come in! Let me introduce you to my niece Lily, and my friend, Dug."

Alice eyes the two strangers stonily, taking in the massive build of the man, and the eerie grin of the young girl. They stare back, neither making any move to welcome the trio.

The house is relatively clean, albeit dimly lit and cold. Creepily smiling dolls are strewn around the darkened stone hearth, and the floorboards groan underneath their feet. The stench of sickly sweet floral perfume and rotting wood is enough to make Alice gag slightly. Can this really be her new home?

"The two extra bedrooms are upstairs to the left. We're ordering out tonight, any preferences? No? Good." The pinkette is gone before they can respond, dashing somewhere in the study.

"Alice, Alyss, go unpack," Oswald tells them gently, ushering them up the stairs. "I've got to talk with Lottie a bit."

The twins exchange unsure glances to one another, but make their way up to their new room anyway. It's quite spacious compared to their old apartment, and it makes Alyss squeal and twirl around like a princess, but Alice remains skeptical. She hates it, hates it, _hates it_. Everything about the room reeks of unfriendliness and negligence. The bed is pushed into the corner, as if sleep does not matter, to make room for a large, ornate dresser that Alice knows they will never use. The mirror is cracked and covered in dust (probably a health hazard since it looks like there's some sort of mold growing on it), as is everything else in the room. She sneezes and curses.

* * *

It seems ages until dinner, and Alice takes it upon herself to look around her new environment. As far as she can see, the town is far livelier than when she had lived here, years ago. After several minutes of begging to her uncle, she is finally allowed to leave the property (which is nestled deep in the heart of the town) and explore. Alyss, however, is tentative, and decides to stay in the house. Alice isn't sure if she's happy about it, or slightly betrayed.

Regardless, as she wanders about the cobblestone streets, she finds her mind wandering to none other than Oz Vessalius.

That blonde boy really seemed to know how to push her buttons, though their encounter was brief and a rather annoying experience for her. Yet she can't seem to get his smiling face from her head, and it's driving her crazy.

And before she knows it, she is back at that house.

Damn.

* * *

He's halfway through his chores in the garden when he sees her again, their long awaited second meeting. She's looking, or rather _glaring, _at him through the gates, and he has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. He's only spoken to her once, and he already knows that looking smug will only set her off.

"Hey, Just Alice!" He calls out—he just can't resist teasing her. Her face flushes a lively pink.

"My name is Alice, dammit!" She snarls, causing him to chuckle lightly. She looks more like an angry kitten than anything else.

"Alright, alright, let's cool down a bit." He walks over and lets her in, brushing off dirt from his hands as he does so. "So what brings you back here, Alice?"

She's silent. He grins.

"… You don't know, do you?" It's a rhetorical question. They both know the answer.

"Shut up!" When in doubt, just say 'shut up'.

He watches her storm up the path and to the willow, planting her behind on the swing set with a frustrated huff. And as happy as he is that the girl of his dreams is so close to him, he has to glance over his shoulder to make sure that Ms. Kate is still occupied inside by the refurbishing men. He'd definitely get a good long speech from her if she finds out that he is letting a stranger on the property.

"Well, let's just say that you're here so that we can be friends," Oz suggests, plopping down on the earth beside her.

She looks down at him with skeptical eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

"'Friends' is a bit of a stretch," Alice responds haughtily, putting one leg over the other. "From now on, you are my man-servant—you'll need to do everything I say and attend to my every need."

"What?" He gapes at her, unsure of whether she is serious or not.

She's serious.

How has the conversation come to this?

"My family and I have moved to this town today, so I'm going to need a man-servant," She says.

"How does you moving here have anything to do with needing a man-servant?" He protests, but inside he's happy that she's deemed him trustworthy enough to rely on him.

"It just does! And backing out isn't an option!" Alice stares him down, and finally he relents.

Then she grins and time seems to stop, as cliché as it is. This is the first time she really resembles the girl in the picture, who is young and not so beaten down. His breath catches in his throat. It feels as though he can stare at her forever (which he really could). His stomach turns and his brain short-circuits, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's already one foot off the property when he snaps out of his trance.

"See ya, man-servant!" Alice calls with a backhand wave.

"See ya…"

He doesn't need to be a genius to know why he's so driven to keep that smile on her face.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter is pretty long to make up for my last update. This is mainly to develop their relationship more before more elements are added to the story. I feel as if it's a little too rushed 'cuz I'm not sure how long I want to make this story. Everything's sort of awkwardly-paced. Ah well, thanks for reading! **


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